Wes’s face lit up, his eyes dancing. “Give me a minute to get ready.”
Now came a completely different kind of torture: watching as Wes squirted lube onto his fingers and slid one, then another, inside himself. His small, muffled groan was the ideal finishing touch—and, Connor suspected, largely for his benefit. He held out his hand to help Wes straddle him, holding on even when Wes grasped his cock with his other hand and slowly lowered himself onto it.
Christ, he felt incredible—smooth, slick, impossibly hot, that amazing lollipop mouth falling open as he slid down to settle on Connor’s lap. Eyes half-closed, as if he’d wandered into some decadent dream, until he started to move, hips rocking back and forth.
“It’s good, huh?” Wes breathed, their gazes locked, fingers entwined so tightly Connor feared their bones might shatter. The air burned his skin, just like Wes’s eyes, a pair of bright blue coals scalding him.
Too much, and yet not enough. Not enough by half.
He was about to wrap his free arm around Wes’s waist and flip him onto his back, but too late—Wes had already grabbed hold of his own cock, and warm, milky jets were spilling onto Connor’s belly. He followed a few moments later, a soul-deep groan ripped from his throat as Wes ground down hard, wringing every last drop out of him before crumpling into his arms.
“You liked it, right? You liked me?” Wes whispered, feathering kisses over Connor’s chest and throat. Dark, sweaty ringlets framed his flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen mouth. Connor had never seen anything so perfectly, stunningly debauched. “Tell me you liked it.”
Where had this sudden neediness come from? Seemed a bit odd. The Wes he’d spent the last two days with hadn’t struck him as insecure—in fact, quite the opposite. “Jesus, you have to ask?”
“Just making sure I did a good job, that’s all.”
Connor would’ve asked exactly what he meant, had the entire weekend not chosen that particular moment to come crashing down on him, forty-eight non-stop hours of stress and weariness weighing him into the mattress. Sighing, he carded his fingers through Wes’s damp curls and let himself drift. Whatever the answer was, it could wait until tomorrow.
Wes lay there for a long time after Connor dropped off, eyes shut, listening to the slow, gentle thump of his heart. He couldn’t believe he’d gone through with it. After the clumsy pass he’d made last weekend, he was sure he’d screwed it up with Connor for good. He’d never dreamed they’d not only hit it off this time, but actually form a connection. Remembering the way Connor had looked at him while they’d fucked, as if he were the only other person in the world, still made him ache with need—and something else, too. Something deeper and sharper, twisting in his heart. He needed to get out of here now.
Connor half-moaned in his sleep, his grip tightening around Wes as he tried to pull away. Wes pressed a soft kiss to his chest and whispered, “I’m sorry.” Then he slowly, carefully unfurled Connor’s fingers, slid out from under his arm and rolled to his feet. Connor’s eyelids fluttered, and for a split-second Wes’s breath froze, until Connor turned over to face the wall.
Caught between relief and disappointment, Wes scooped his clothes off the floor and slipped into the bathroom to get dressed. He managed to avoid his reflection until it came time to knot his tie. Outwardly, he seemed no different than before. No marks on his face, and his hair didn’t look bad once he dragged his fingers through it. So why couldn’t he get rid of that awful empty feeling inside?
He flicked off the bathroom light, fighting the urge to glance into the bedroom one last time. A quarter ’til one by his watch, and he still had another stop to make before he could go home. Out the door and down the hall he went, heading for the elevator. He rode it up to the fourteenth floor and headed to room 1420, knocking four times before Professor Campbell’s tousled head poked out.
His red-rimmed, alcohol-dulled eyes widened, sweeping Wes from head to toe and back again. “Mission accomplished, I assume?”
Wes nodded, his mouth tight. He wished he could just turn around and go, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. School started in another month. He didn’t have the luxury of turning down what was coming to him, no matter how shitty he felt about accepting it. “Can I have my money now, please?”
“Sure, hold on.” Professor Campbell ducked back inside for a moment, reappearing with a plain white envelope, which he handed to Wes with a smirk. “I added in a little bonus for your trouble. I mean, you did follow him around for two whole days.”
Wes longed to open the envelope and count it, but it was bad form to do that in front of a client. Instead, he tucked it into his jacket pocket. “It was no trouble. I learned a lot.”
“I’ll bet.” God, Campbell was such a smarmy bastard. It took all of Wes’s self-control to keep from punching him in the face. “Well, you got him out onstage without too much fuss. That’s worth four grand, easy. As for the rest . . . let’s hope the ego boost lasts him awhile.” Grinning, he clapped Wes on the shoulder. “You did good, kid, despite that misfire at the party. Thanks for everything.”
The door clicked shut. Wes stared at it for a long moment, then headed back to the elevator and rode it down to the garage. He climbed into the rusty burnt-orange Kia he’d bought used two summers ago, with the air conditioner that wheezed and battery that stalled out half the time. Finally, he peeked inside the envelope. The four thousand he and Campbell had agreed on, plus another thousand besides. Enough to pay a chunk of his fall semester tuition and cover the first month’s rent on that one-bedroom he’d just signed the lease on. It should’ve been a load off his mind, if not for the way he’d earned it.
But he’d had no choice. With his scholarship gone, he had to come up with tuition, room, and board on his own, not to mention money for books and a meal or two here and there—nearly forty grand. Flipping burgers at Mickey D’s wasn’t going to cut it, not that he could even find a regular job in this shitty economy. If he hadn’t stumbled across that website last June, he’d probably be back in fucking Indiana, finishing his degree at some lousy state college that didn’t even offer an optics program. No hope of grad school. No opportunity to work with a scientist he’d idolized for years.
Oh, who was he kidding? He’d already fucked that up. How could he explain why he’d left in the middle of the night? Or worse, what if Connor discovered why he’d turned up at the conference in the first place? He couldn’t risk it. Never kissing Connor again, never touching him or fucking him or even talking to him was better than having him find out Wes had taken money for sleeping with him. As much as it hurt, there was no other way.
Another weekend, another hotel bar. Wes swirled his club soda and checked his watch. His client should’ve been here fifteen minutes ago. He drained his glass and signaled to the bartender for another, halfway tempted to ask for something stronger. After two months, he’d hoped the pre-appointment butterflies would’ve subsided, but no such luck. Besides, he’d learned his lesson about indulging in alcohol beforehand. Clients didn’t like their whores having to get tipsy so they could go through with fucking them.
Wes had never seen this client before, but he knew who he was the second he walked in. Fiftyish, dark suit, receding hairline, gut hanging over his belt. Didn’t take him long to spot Wes, either. He came right over, eyes narrow, looking Wes up and down.
“Those photos on the website didn’t do you justice.” He was practically drooling. Wes’s stomach twisted. “You’re fucking hot.”
“Um, thanks.” Wes forced a smile, holding out his hand. “I’m Wes.”
“I know. I’m, uh . . . Tom.” Yeah, right. As if any of them ever told him their real names. His handshake was limp and clammy, though thankfully his fingers only closed over Wes’s for a few seconds. So he was nervous, too. Well, good. Meant he probably wouldn’t mind Wes taking the reins.
“Did you already get a room?” Wes asked, sliding off his stool. Now that he’d met the guy, taken his measure, his jitters began to fade. Time to
project confidence, set the client at ease. Good thing he’d taken that acting class sophomore year—though he’d never imagined putting it to this kind of use. At Tom’s nod, he added, “Great. Shall we go, then?”
They rode up silently in the elevator, then went down the hallway to the room. As soon as the door swung shut, Tom dove right in, angling for a kiss, grinding his crotch into Wes’s hip. Christ, he was heavy. Took all Wes’s strength to hold him off. “Wait a minute. There’s something we need to get out of the way first.”
Tom blinked. “Oh. Of course.” He fumbled in his wallet, pulling out five crisp C-notes. Not bad for a couple hours’ work, though he had the feeling this guy was going to make him earn every penny.
Sure enough, he barely had a chance to shove the cash in his pocket before Tom attacked again, pulling at his shirt, engulfing his mouth in a kiss that almost suffocated him. Oh, terrific. Another awkward jerk who turned all grabby-hands once you got him alone. No wonder he needed to troll for paid dates on the fucking internet.
Wes shoved at Tom’s chest again, until he finally got the message and stopped. “C’mon, lover, take it easy. We’ve got plenty of time.” Jesus, he hated calling him that, but every guy he’d been with since he’d started hooking went fucking crazy for it. Thought it made them sound so special. Truth was, it saved Wes from trying to remember their stupid made-up names. “Go sit on the bed and I’ll give you a nice show, okay?”
Worked like magic—but then, it always did. Wes slipped off his jacket and draped it over the back of a nearby chair, then unbuttoned his cuffs and the front of his shirt. Tom’s piggy eyes followed his every move, his mouth gaping as Wes shrugged off the warm white cotton and peeled it down his arms.
For one painful instant, Wes remembered another hotel room, another man’s face. Those beautiful green eyes drinking him in with gentle, teasing affection . . .
“Get your pants off,” Tom barked, meaty fingers working open his own fly. “I want to see your ass.”
Wes bit his lip, eyes drifting shut. Don’t think about it, just do it. He’s already fucking paid you. He kicked off his shoes, then unzipped his slacks, hooked his thumbs in his boxers and pulled everything off at once. So much for a nice show, though it didn’t seem as if Tom minded. In fact, he already had his dick out and was working it with his fist. His small, hairy, red-tipped dick. Looked like it belonged on a dog.
“Turn around,” Tom ordered. “Put your hands on the desk.”
His tone sent a curl of apprehension up Wes’s spine. He’d had demanding clients before, but there was something creepy, even a bit cruel, about the way Tom was treating him. As if he were a slab of meat dangling on a butcher’s hook.
“Look,” Wes said, “why don’t we get in bed and get comfortable—”
Tom lunged toward him. “In a minute. After I’ve inspected what I’ve paid for.” He jerked his chin at the desk. “Turn around.”
Oh, lucky him. He’d landed an asshole who got off on behaving like one. Well, okay. Wasn’t like this was the weirdest thing he’d ever been asked to do. He turned and put his hands on the desk. And waited.
A long moment crawled by, Tom’s heavy breathing hanging thickly in the silence. Wes could feel the body heat rolling off him. He touched Wes’s bare shoulder, then slowly dragged his sweaty fingertips down his spine. Wes’s stomach churned.
“Stick out that sweet ass,” Tom said. “Show it to me.”
God, this was ridiculous. Why couldn’t the guy just fuck him already? Suppressing the urge to burst out laughing, Wes bent over, wiggling his butt. Might as well get some fun out of it.
Then Tom’s hand came down, smacking Wes’s left cheek so hard it knocked him into the desk.
“What the fuck?” Wes swung around, weaving on his feet. “You didn’t say anything about wanting to spank me!”
“Oh, sorry.” Except he didn’t look sorry at all. His eyes flickered wickedly, his mouth pressed into a flat, cold line. “Do you charge more for that?”
Well, well, so here was the real Tom—a sadistic bastard with a kink for pushing boundaries. Now Wes knew what he was dealing with. So did he deal with it, or put his clothes on and get the fuck out of here?
He started to reach for his pants, until he remembered the tuition bill sitting on his desk at home. His next installment was due right before classes started in a couple of weeks. And then there was his fridge, empty except for a couple bottles of beer. Sure, he could leave here with his dignity mostly intact and enough money to get him through the next week or so—until Tom posted a scathing review of his “performance” on the website. One black mark was all it’d take to send his ratings into the toilet, then he’d be lucky if he ever scored another appointment.
“Three hundred,” he said finally, meeting Tom’s hard gaze straight on. “And you stop when I tell you to stop.”
Tom’s lip curled. “Fair enough.”
Wes turned back around and planted his hands on the desk, bracing himself for the first blow. Another hard, open-handed slap, landing exactly where Tom had hit him before. It stung like hell. He’d barely begun to process the pain when down came another smack, on his right cheek this time. Then another, and another.
Didn’t take long before his ass was on fire, but he gritted his teeth and held on, tears springing to his eyes. He was on the verge of telling Tom he’d had enough when Tom stopped, one hand poised on Wes’s hip, his breath coming in short, labored bursts. A few seconds later, he gave a strangled grunt and spurted all over Wes’s back. Then he staggered to the bed and collapsed.
Every muscle in Wes’s legs and back screamed as he straightened up, gathered his clothes, and retreated into the bathroom. His hands shook as he wetted a cloth to wash off Tom’s cum. He’d never had a client jerk off on him before. At least he hadn’t had to look him in the face while he’d done it.
His ass was bright pink, and warm to the touch—not that he even wanted to touch where Tom’s hands had been. He’d probably be five shades of purple by tomorrow. He scrubbed at the jizz as best he could, but its stink still clung to his skin. Briefly, he considered jumping in the shower, but that could wait until he got home. He didn’t want to spend any more time in this fucking hotel room than he had to.
He finished dressing and stepped back into the bedroom. Tom was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at something on his cell phone. He beckoned Wes over, then dug in his wallet for three more bills and handed them to him.
“Thanks.” Wes made sure it was the right amount before pocketing it. “I should get going.” He headed toward the door.
“Just a minute.” Tom called after him. “Looks like I’m free Tuesday nights for the next few months. How about we make this a standing appointment?”
What? “You mean . . . this time every week?”
Tom let out a sarcastic chuckle. “That’s the idea.”
Jesus. From the way Tom had behaved, Wes had assumed he didn’t like him that much. Or maybe that was because he didn’t particularly like Tom. In fact, standing in the same room with him made the bile rise in the back of his throat. Could he deal with seeing this guy on a regular basis?
Well, it wasn’t like he had clients lined up down the block. This was business, after all. He didn’t have to like the guy to take his money.
“Eight hundred, like tonight?”
“Five,” Tom countered. “I get a volume discount, right?”
Fucking cheapskate. “Seven hundred.”
“Six-fifty for ninety minutes. I’d call that more than fair.”
Twenty-six hundred a month for six hours of his time. Enough to pay his rent, buy groceries, and still have a nice wad of cash left over. He’d have to take a few appointments on the side to cover books and what was left of his tuition, but having a regular client would sure as hell ease the burden. Wouldn’t be easy taking a beating like that every week, but for the money and added peace of mind, he’d put up with it.
“Okay,” Wes said at last. “Meet
you in the bar next Tuesday.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Tom pointed at his watch. “We’ve still got, oh, about sixty-five minutes left tonight.”
A chill settled in Wes’s gut. Did this mean Tom wanted to spank him again? He wasn’t sure his sore ass could take another thrashing so soon. Maybe he could talk him into a nice, slow blowjob . . .
From the way Tom snickered like some sick-fuck kid blowing up frogs with firecrackers, his unease must have been apparent. “Just kidding. See you next week. In fact,” he added with a cruel upward quirk of his lips that made Wes shudder, “I’m already looking forward to it.”
Wes spent the Friday before classes started moving into the physics and engineering apartment building. Took him and his buddy Jason three trips to cart all his books, clothes and furniture over to the new place. Naturally, the elevator was packed, so they ended up dragging most of his stuff up three flights of stairs. They didn’t finish ’til mid-afternoon, then flopped on Wes’s creaky sofa, sipping beers.
“Want me to stay and help you unpack?” Jason asked.
“Nah. I still have to figure out where I want to put everything.” Wes cast a leisurely glance around the living room. Freshly painted cream-colored walls and hardwood floors. Plenty of light streaming through the windows. An actual bedroom, too, even though he didn’t have a bed yet. A far cry from that cramped, noisy Oakland studio where he’d lived all summer. “Thanks for helping, man. Would’ve taken me all weekend to schlep this shit over here by myself.”
“Hey, no problem. You got a sweet place.” Jason finished his beer and stood up. “Good thing that new scholarship came through, huh?”
Wes hesitated before nodding. He hated lying, especially to his friends, but what else could he say? Actually, I’m peddling my ass to fat, ugly, middle-aged men probably wouldn’t go over too well. So he plastered on what felt like the world’s fakest smile and walked Jason to the door.
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